


To Conquer Fear

by cadkitten



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Fear, First Time, Introspection, JayTimWeek, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: Fear. It's an interesting concept; intriguing in concept and ultimately more so in practice. On the surface it's a chain reaction of the brain, a response to a simple set of stimuli that engage someone in just the right ways to trigger a very specific response. The heart races, breathing increases, muscles get an extra jolt to leave them prepped and prepared for either flight or fight. The release of adrenaline is automatic, unstoppable given the right set of circumstances, the exact right situation. This life? It's all about owning that response, forcing it into a very calculated version of fight, but also about knowing when to take flight instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For JayTimWeek Halloweek 2k16. Prompt: Fear  
> The Car  
> Some serious throws to Teland for making [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/896360/chapters/1731235). I spent the past 2 weeks reading and adoring. Some inspiration was definitely from there, intentional or not.   
> Beta Readers: kate1zena, sakura_ame  
> Song[s]: "Love Death Immortality" by The Glitch Mob

_Fear_. It's an interesting concept; intriguing in concept and more so in practice. On the surface it's a chain reaction of the brain, a response to a simple set of stimuli that engages someone in just the right way to trigger a very specific response: the heart races, breathing increases, muscles get an extra jolt to leave them prepped and prepared for either flight or fight. The release of adrenaline is automatic, _unstoppable_ given the right set of circumstances, the exact right situation. 

This life? It's all about _owning_ that response, forcing it into a very calculated version of _fight_ , but also about knowing when to take _flight_ instead. 

Take the current situation for example. I'm backed into a corner and this should have everything in my body screaming for an out, should be telling me my only options are to beat the shit out of these people or to scream for help. Die... or die trying. Three guns, two knives, one set of brass knuckles, and a looming presence at the end of the alley that none of them have noticed yet, but _I_ have. 

The flood of adrenaline slides through me like the perfectly made poison that it is and the fear becomes _useful_. My heart rate is schooled only because I tell it to be, my breathing hard from the running rather than from the situation. The shiver that works through me has nothing to do with the people who want to kill me and _everything_ to do with how I'm about to fuck them up.

The staff feels warm in my hands, even through the thickness of my gloves. I feel _lucky_ the lenses are whited out on my mask or they'd _know_ what they're in for.

The shadow remains deadly and silent at the end of the alleyway and the first man lunges. The crack of my staff is automatic, a _reflexive_ save rather than a conscious one. I don't even spare him a glance as he goes down hard, probably seeing Tweety birds swimming 'round his head for all that he bothers to move.

His action goads the others into _re_ action and everything becomes a blur. Two gunshots, one straying too far to the left because the guy's a lousy shot and I could _tell_ that before he ever let one fly. Overconfident, but not untrained. I go for the one most likely to _kill_ me with his first shot: the new guy holding a gun far too big for his musculature. Too much kick, too much raw power packed into a sleek package. A lunge and a side-step to avoid the inevitable bullet, a crack and his nose is broken, a sweep and his gun is behind me somewhere. A backswing and I take the man with a knife trying to circle me.

I roll to avoid another gunshot and I come up hard into a guy's gut, turn and a block to a blow from a _seething_ young lady and I drop a smoke bomb. My cape flutters and then two more are down, one with a likely concussion given how hard he came at me while I was lining up a blow - a mistake, but hopefully not a fatal one. I can't worry about that or about him right now.

A birdarang clips the shoulder of the guy who's drawn a bead on me and knocks the shot astray, smashing it into the brick wall at my left. Gun goes flying as I clip him and whirl to slam my body weight into the girl who's back in the game again. The points of my spikes dig into her and I can't help the next little _rush_ that comes from using my protection as my _weapon_. I drop the guy with the gun with a well-placed kick, spinning out of it and slamming the girl back against the wall, my staff across her throat. 

"Where is she?" My voice sounds _deadly_ , even to my own ears and I give a fleeting thought as to if _he's_ impressed or - perhaps - irritated by my display.

I give just enough for her to gasp in a breath and then _spit_ in my face. I lean into the crush and her eyes bug out, her hands lashing out at me, but only glancing off of hard-to-hold armor. My head cocks and I sense the other person, sense _who_ it is before he lands hard on my left. A hand slips in above my staff and I ease up, giving her a nasty little grin. "I'll just... leave you two alone for a moment." Just like that, I turn my back and take note that the others have been tied up, taken care of by a now _absent_ shadow. 

He's been testing me for weeks, letting me take people on my own while he waits as backup. It's an impressive display of _trust_ on his part and I can only hope I keep earning it.

I move to the edge of the alley and settle against the cool brick, staff at the ready, ears and eyes on full-alert. My stance is deceptively relaxed.

Much to my credit, when the voice comes _right_ next to my ear, I don't even get a spark of adrenaline. I'm _used_ to Batman pulling this kind of shit. 

"You trust him?"

The smile on my lips is - perhaps - uglier than I mean for it to be. "His brand of _fear_ is different than ours, but no less effective." 

Bruce gives a quiet 'hmm' and there's a flutter of his cape as he pressed his hand to his ear. I can almost see the squint that I know is behind that mask. He's getting a JLA call and that means it has to be pretty damn _big_. I start to push away from the wall and he holds up one hand, drops the one from his ear, and cocks his head toward me. "Finish up here tonight; I am needed _elsewhere_."

I give a small nod and I don't _question_ a damn thing. I know better by now. He doesn't want help, doesn't want me in the line of whatever fire is raining down wherever he's off to. The sound of the Batplane cuts through the air and I slip back into the alleyway to find the girl looking a little dizzy, but tied up, only a bit worse for the wear. _He's_ gone and not for the first time, my heart sinks. 

I call it in and take flight, knowing full-well that whatever we were tracking down is now on Jason's radar and that he'll take care of it, one way or another. 

The rest of the night is _nothing_ in comparison to the alleyway, to the rush of adrenaline of taking on that many people at once. I'm no fool; doing it again without backup is probably the worst possible idea I could have, so I _don't_ put myself in any situation that could rain such a hell down on me. Maybe it's overly cautious, maybe it's pathetic of me not to test the odds like so many other vigilantes do, but my life is worth more than being cut down in some dark hell-hole because I couldn't play it a little bit safe. If I ever go down, it'll be with _reason_ , with purpose for the overall greater good: saving a hundred or a thousand people with some valiant action or because some big bad finally gets the drop on me and _breaks_ me, the way I watched Bane break Bruce.

The end of my patrol comes as I call in a foiled armed robbery into GCU, drop the last gun on the pile I've made so far away from the tied up morons that they'll never get to them. Just for fun, I've trussed them like Thanksgiving turkeys and one of them looks _angry_ as hell about it.

My cape flutters as I make a run for the opposite building, shoot my grapple, and take flight. The first rays of light are straying over the horizon and it's time to go home. _Home_ is so subjective these days. With my family gone and the _manor_ being my new home, it's always a play at what home actually means. Bruce keeps me because I'm Robin and I _know_ that. It's not that he doesn't care beyond that, but if I weren't Robin, I'd be... _elsewhere_.

It sets off a train of thought I'm not sure I want to be engaged in, but it overcomes me as I swing Gotham's downtown toward the Batmobile. If I weren't Robin, _who_ would I be? It's such a giant piece of who I am, it's hard to imagine a life without it. Years of yearning, of training, and even more of just _watching_. It's been a dream since I remember dreaming, and if it _hadn't_ been... who would Tim Drake be?

It's a pointless little rampage of thought, one that will lead me nowhere useful, but I don't bother to stop it. I see a lost little boy, prone to depression and anxiety issues. I see someone who _fears_ and cannot do anything about it and I see Gotham surrounding him. My feet land hard on the pavement next to the Batmobile and I _see_ little Tim Drake in a neatly pressed suit, another victim of Gotham, the white sheen of postmortem makeup pressed into his flesh, and I see the dozen or so paths that lead to that exact moment.

Without Robin... Tim Drake would be _dead_. One way or another, his own hand or another, the world would not be graced by my presence any longer. 

It doesn't make me _sad_ per say. A little melancholy, perhaps, but nothing to dwell upon. That's not my life and it never will be. _This_ is my life and I'm doing everything I can with it.

I slip into the Batmobile and my eyes flicker down to the little blue post-it note on the dash, my eyes reading it quicker than I can compute and finding no threat in it. I read it again and _relax_.

**Robin, Text me on the usual line. - J**

My heart gives a little thrill as I peel the note off and tuck it into my belt. The faint whiff of Jason's cologne meets my senses and the smile on my lips is unstoppable. There's _fear_ here, too, but this one is a completely different brand.

I engage the car, point it in the right direction, and open it up, ripping toward the designated route for the night. Always different, always _planned_ well in advance. It throws anyone because we never leave Gotham the same way. No trail to follow.

The little ride of fear still grips me as I shift through the gears, find a bump in the newly patched pavement that gives the car a little more air than I'm used to, but it's under control. _Jason_ wants to talk to me again. 

It's not the best kept secret that I've never stopped having some absurd little crush on him. It's ridiculous, really. Just these little thrills whenever he gets close enough, a single _breathless_ moment the one time he ever let me see something besides the cold, hard façade he puts up for every single one of us. It's the _dreams_ and this one drunken little incident where I almost told him too much, only stopped myself at the last possible instant. 

There's a warmth that comes with knowing Jason wants to talk to me, even knowing it'll most likely be about the information the girl gave up - or didn't. 

By the time I get back to the cave, there's a hot sandwich waiting on me and a nice tall glass of water. No ice because Alfred _knows_ that invites trouble with me, that I'll drink it too fast on an overly hot stomach and no one likes those results, least of all me. 

Everything's off in record time and after a quick wash of my hands, I'm carting the sandwich and a voice recorder with me toward the showers. The sandwich is gone before I can really even register the taste and I keep talking to the recorder all the way through my shower, leaving it on the ledge just beyond the reach of the shower spray. I worked the kinks out on it picking me up to translate into text with the shower running about a month ago, killed the white noise of it, and - for the most part - it works like a charm.

Mainly, _no wasted time_. 

I flit around the room after my shower, finishing up the last of the reports as I pull on a pair of tight red jeans and let the old band t-shirt fall down over my torso, falling well down my thighs. Maybe it's a bit too big on me, but I don't care, given I have a bad tendency to sleep in the thing. The mask goes back on, the easy stick one I use for around here when we have to pull up video, and meander my way to the main screens. 

I give Bruce a cursory check-in, he sounds overworked, but no more so than I'm used to hearing from him. Something explodes in the distance and he snarls and cuts the line. Oddly, there's no _fear_ in that. If he's angry enough to snarl, he's got it under control, which leaves me with only one thing to worry about: Jason.

I dial him up without hesitation, lean back in my chair and let the voice call activate as it rings. Third ring he picks up and all I can see is his back, the towel thrown over his shoulder, the _scars_ that have ripped his entire back apart. I _know_ where they've come from, just who and what gave him most of that patchwork _hell_ and I know if my lenses didn't block it, there'd be anger in my eyes. Anger at Joker, anger at _Selena_ for one of those, and anger at the countless other people who've marked him up like he's just open and available to _hurt_ like that.

"Got the girl back in one piece, she's with GCPD. There were three others there who are now being sorted through the system as well."

So it's _work_ then. It usually is. I bite back the sigh. "Ten-four." I pull up the necessary files and start marking them. "Names?"

"Joseph Stein, Carrie Velasquez, and Marcus McDowen." I can see his head cock ever so slightly, which means he read something in my voice I didn't mean for him to. I type them in, call up the missing person's reports and shuffle the right paperwork into the right slots under Jason's files for them. None of them were on our radar. One was on Nightwing's. I send him the proper message to go with it, letting him know it's a closed case now thanks to Jason.

"Were all the players who we'd pinpointed?" I know he has access to our systems. I'm not _stupid_... and I also left him a back door. There's a play between Bruce and me on that one; he pretends not to notice and I pretend to not know that he most definitely _does_ know. But I don't play coy with Jason on it.

"Yes. I marked the key one you may want to keep an eye on. Usual tag."

I pull up the _red_ marked file, click through it, a grim set to my jaw. "We didn't turn them in?"

"No point, they may lead us back to someone else. I let them slip through my fingers on purpose." He drops the towel and takes a few steps toward something that's out of my vision, just under the bottom part of the screen, and _bends down_.

My heart _thuds_ in my chest and entirely different version of fear shoots through me. Fear of being _caught_ staring at Jason like this. Fear of what's showing on my face and what isn't. 

The barest curve of the swell of his ass is on display to me for a second or so as he pulls on _pants_. He turns even as he's still fastening them up and there is _nothing_ I can do about the heat that shoots straight for my nether regions. I keep my jaw set hard, force my face into the grim set I know it should be in if I'm still annoyed by the freed criminal element. 

He's still wearing his mask. It's a _game_ we're playing here. We both fully know the other's identity behind the mask. We both know there's files upon files on one another in Bruce's systems: profiles and deductions, paperwork on what personality type we are and how well we did in training, where we fucked up and where we succeeded. And we both know that we've thumbed through one another's files more than once.

My eyes flit over the red mask, the black as it comes in toward his eyes, the way it frames his face so _perfectly_. My heart thumps hard in my chest and my palms go _sweaty_. This is a reaction I have to _learn_ to reign in, to get a handle on. In the same breath, I know nothing will ever stop me from looking at him this way.

There's a moment of silence between us that should have grown uncomfortable and yet _hasn't_. My jaw unclenches and I think - not for the first time - about telling him how it really is for me. It's on the tip of my tongue to _confess_ , on the intake of breath to _tell_ him everything.

"Alfred." Jason gives a little nod and I can see the subtle way things shift in his demeanor. It's friendly, but reserved in ways it wasn't an instant before. He reaches to pull a shirt on and just the _sight_ of it nearly does me in. 

I busy myself with tacking on the information about the slipped away criminal element and spare their strained conversation only a partial ear. Alfred sounds lost, like he wants to tell Jason to come home but has grown weary of repeating himself. Jason sounds pained, as though even seeing Alfred reminds him of everything that's changed. I hear my name and tilt my head upwards to give Jason my attention again. He offers a tight smile and then says something I'd never have expected, something that sends my pulse skittering faster than I can recall it managing in recent history. "I'll text you." The line cuts and I'm left clutching the arm of the chair so hard my knuckles are white.

Alfred's hand touches my back and I _jerk_ in surprise, utterly unable to restrain the way _fear_ works in my brain right now. "Perhaps you're done down here for the night, Master Timothy?"

I give a small nod, pushing back from the computer, the lack of my presence sending the command to blanket the whole thing in our standard encryption processes. "Yes, I believe so."

Something presses against my palm and I close my hand reflexively. A quick glance finds keys and Alfred's already turned away, busying himself with cleaning up the remnants of my meal. The blush on my cheeks is hot and fast. 

I take the stairs two at a time, find myself breathless by the time I'm all the way upstairs, tucked away in my second floor bedroom with my phone in my lap. 

**Jay?**

My phone vibrates not even a second later, as if he's had the text prepped for me. 

**786 Bayside. D-20**

A shudder rips through me and I can't help the _thrill_ as I text back, **R or T?**

**T**

That response is as fast as I expected it to be, too, though completely converse to what I had thought the answer would be. It seems there's still some surprises up Jason's sleeves. 

I strip off the mask, tuck it away in my pocket, and gather up an overnight bag. Not much, my laptop, a hoodie, loafers without socks, but a pair in the bag for tomorrow, and a sweater for in the morning, my morning kit... and my little bag of hopes and dreams. Just touching the bag makes me feel warm and tingly. I have _no_ reason to think this is why Jason's inviting me to his place, but plenty of incentive to pack it if only for owning my own dreams.

I palm the keys Alfred slipped me and hook the bag over my shoulder. I slip out, making sure to avoid Alfred seeing me and having to say he let me go and give the keys a glance to see which car he gave me. I want to laugh as I slip behind the wheel of the least practical car Bruce owns: a white and gold Audi R8. Damn thing is a _dream_ to handle and there's no way in _hell_ Bruce would have loaned it to me. 

I open her up on the way away from the manor, let myself get a bit _high_ off the freedom of each gear shifting beneath my touch. The dual-shift is smooth, the transition like butter, the usual jerk and sway of a sports car being taken to its limits nowhere to be found. I top over a hundred and fall back, _knowing_ she can do at least twice that, _understanding_ now isn't the time for that. I lay off and the hiss of the aspirator joins the roar of the engine, leaving a little smirk on my face. 

By the time I get to Jason's appointed destination, I've opened her up twice more, once pushing all the way up to one twenty. The hard-on in my jeans has nothing to do with Jason right now and everything to do with the _power_ of driving such a wonderful beast of a car.

I roll up and the garage doors roll up. Jason's leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and I navigate the car into the garage. The door rumbles down behind me and he's there to open the door before I can even unbuckle my seat belt. The gesture is casual, built to look like it's nothing at all, rather than the grandiose gesture it really is.

We don't talk and I don't say a word about the fact that his mask is absent and mine's burning a hole in the pocket of my jeans. 

He's gotten me a glass of ice cold cranberry juice before he says a damn thing and when he does, it's not what I expect. "He's tracking you, you know."

My bag settles on the spare bar stool as I settle at his counter, quirking my eyebrow at him. "You expected something else?"

He gives a derisive little snort and pushes the glass toward me with a shake of his head.

"I see... thought you'd warn me." I lean forward, taking the glass in both hands, take a cursory sip, and cock my head _just so_ at him, my eyes narrowed in the thoughtful little way that implies the need to know more about the _why_ of a situation. I know he can read me well enough to understand the question without it being spoken.

There's hesitation in his actions and while it doesn't surprise me, it still leaves me a little out of sorts to see it on him so obviously. Finally, he reaches under the counter, pulls out a tablet, and after a few taps, he pushes the thing toward me. 

On screen is a view of my _bedroom_. This time the stab of _fear_ has nothing to do with having a camera in my bedroom and everything to do with the things I've _done_ in that bedroom. He's quiet as he drags down the menu that tells all about how it's set up and where the feed is saving to. Bruce... Bruce is keeping tabs on me. But... _why_?

Heaving out a sigh, I reach for the tablet, hands hovering until he nods, and then tug it over and start working my magic on it. How long has it been in the systems, when did Jason discover it, what's been _erased_ to cover a trail, what doesn't exist that _should_. But it's all very straight-forward, if absurdly well hidden in Bruce's systems. It doesn't appear to have been accessed except for Jason having found it two nights ago. It's been open on his tablet just twice, once for about thirty seconds two evenings ago - a time stamp that would have put me on the streets, not in the bedroom - and tonight, since about the time I left the manor, maybe a little sooner. My heart thuds at the acknowledgment that perhaps he'd seen me put _that_ item in my bag. More fear, this one tangible, like the coppery hint of blood after a good strike.

I backtrack to how long it's been there and find it installed long before the room was ever _mine_. Potential Bruce has honestly forgotten about it. A precaution, perhaps, and nothing more. A room without an occupant... without constant checking, it seems like something to safeguard against. I relax and push it back toward Jason. "Tracks back to before I was even there..." I shrug, trying to feel at least a little less like my privacy just fell apart.

Jason pulls up another window, all the hours and hours of video, the quality implying it'd be grainy and rough, but there nonetheless. He pushes it back in front of me. "Yours to delete if that's what you want to do."

Our eyes meet for a fraction of a second and, after a moment, I select everything prior to this past year and delete it. It'll take hours to complete, but it's happening regardless. 

Jason holds out a comm for me and gives a little shrug. "It's on _his_ channel... if you want it."

My fingers brush his for a moment and then retreat. "I trust it was there for a reason and everything indicates it's not being watched, so... reasons are reasons."

"You feel violated." It's not a question, it's a hard _statement_ of fact and I don't bother denying it.

My eyes flicker to his for an instant before I pick up the glass of juice and take a sip. The glass clinks as I place it back down. My heart gives a few obnoxious pounds in my chest, and I understand that the anxiety isn't over anything Bruce may or may not have done with this footage. It's about Jason having found it, having potentially seen what I _wasn't_ assuming, what I was simply _planning_ for if it happened to occur. It's about my secrets being outed in a single action by someone who only meant well. 

When I take a breath, it's somewhat shaky, and I hate that, but this is - perhaps - the closest someone's gotten to me - the real me - in a long time.

"When you turned it on today," I pause, trying to measure his reaction, trying not to put accusation in my tone, "did you see anything or just turn it on and put the tablet back," I gesture, "there."

I can see he understands halfway through my words, though he lets me finish them before he says a word. "If you're asking if I watched you, I saw you in the room and I turned off the screen." There's _hurt_ in his words and in the way he pushes the tablet between us like it's offending him to be more than halfway toward him right now. "I wouldn't-"

"I _know_ that." My hand seems to have a mind of its own. It's a uniquely singular sort of feeling, given I've honed myself to have better control than this... or at least I thought I had. Maybe there have been a few places I've neglected. "There's just something I wanted you to find out _another_ way, not accidentally like that."

"You were folding a sweater." Jason looks a little perplexed and then takes his hand away, standing up straight and crossing his arms. "You think I'd turn you away from staying here after asking you to drive all the way out _this late_?"

Then... he hadn't seen. I take a deep breath and shake my head. "No. I think I deducted that one correctly." I reach for my bag and everything in the back of my mind tells me I'm crazy. Everything in the front tells me it's _excited_ by what I'm potentially about to do. My hands open the bag almost on auto-pilot. I extract the case of all of my _secrets_ and place it on the table between us, just beside the tablet that's erasing more of my secrets. Nights spent with _myself_ , nights spent researching things perhaps I shouldn't have been, nights where the screams are silent and the pain more potent than anything else I've ever experienced in my life. There are nights of nightmares and nights where I'd spent my time huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth, unable to stop, unable to cope. All of those are being eradicated right now, blown to bits by my programed deletion methods. 

Jason stares at the case, looks between it and me as if I've offered him a small slimy jellyfish and asked him to care for it with a very specific sort of circumstances. The image is visceral, I _feel_ it more than imagine it, and my lips curve into a smile. "Just... open it."

He reaches for it, tugging it toward him a fraction of an inch and unzipping the top, very carefully parts the buttery leather and peers inside. The little hitch of breath gives him away, though nothing else about him does. He closes it up with a false calm that should have fooled me, should have made me feel like he'd looked inside and found rocks. 

"You're not brash enough to have _expectations_ like those." He leans on the counter now, forearms braced there as he regards me, his eyes bright with the chase of a mystery. "Your reaction to the video, to me seeing you pack... you were somehow afraid I'd know what was in this bag. Perhaps," he cocks his head, his eyes burn into mine, "you kept it in your nightstand. Telling as to what it might be." He's pushing away from the counter now, circling the island and coming to stand _behind_ me. I don't move an inch, just waiting on him to drop the bomb on me.

"It's a _desire_ then. If you planned this far ahead, it's a _fantasy_ as well. You could thrill yourself a little by packing it." His hands touch the counter on either side of me and I shiver. "Spend the entire night so hard you could barely stand it... _wanting_." The way he says the last word leaves me shuddering, the effect of it culminating in the actuality of the shiver that wracks my smaller frame. 

He's _here_ , pressed right up against me and I'm caught against the counter. I can push forward an inch and move away from his touch or... I can stay right here. I maintain my position, that _fear_ surging again. My breathing's hard and my chest feels like it's heaving with it. He's _warm_ and it takes everything not to lean back against him. 

His breath hits my ear and I _whine_. It's a high sort of sound, the type that makes me sound a hundred times needier than I should. I'm _hard_ and I know I shouldn't be. Not just from this.

His hand skims up my abdomen and slides right up to my neck, cupping and then his fingers are curling, lightly scratching as he moves _down_. This time the sound is a moan and I can't cut it back, not in the least. "Tell me what you wanted to say if you ever got the chance." His voice is almost alarmingly gentle, feather-light and full of _want_. I can't miss that; I'd have to be knocked out cold to miss that.

"Years," my voice sounds foreign to me, "been like this for years."

"Since you were a _voyeuristic_ little wannabe birdie?" He's joking, the tone suggests as much, and the smirk I can _feel_ against my _neck_ tells the rest.

My breath sucks in and I grab the edge of the counter, cling to it until I know my knuckles are white. This isn't... this isn't supposed to be how this goes. The ache intensifies in my lower half and I whine, tipping my head back and _giving in_. "I haven't... I don't have... _Jason_." The amount of want in his name alone is overwhelming; he has to understand.

His wicked little laugh tells me he does. "Say how, _Tim_." His is full of dark promise, of fulfillment and nothing can stop me from the desire boiling in my veins right now. I'd fight anything that tried to stop this that wasn't _us_. 

His hand drags down my chest, over my abdomen, and slips down to my absurdly long t-shirt, gathering it up until he can get to the waistband of my jeans, fingertips teasing the button and my skin just behind it. My heart pounds and I get impossibly _harder_ for it. "Anything." The word comes out more gasped than I'd anticipated it should have sounded from my own lips. I cringe, but the action only pushes me back against him more fully, only shows me he's _hard_ , too. 

The cry that leaves my lips is ridiculous. The fact that I can't stop my hand from reaching back to try to grab his hip, can't stop my hips from _grinding_ back on him is all but peripheral to the sound of my voice _confessing_. "Want everything. Anything. Whatever you want. _Please_ ," and, wow, that's incredibly _submissive_ of me. Not exactly how I expected to want this.

His lips are warm against my neck and then he's moving away, but not in a way that makes me think of leaving. His hand's trailing down my arm, his fingertips caching mine ever so loosely to tug me after him. I grab the bag and hear him chuckle. It's a sound that suits him and I wonder if he makes that sound more these days than he lets on. 

His room is growing light with the Gotham morning and he pulls the curtains, sends us into a delicate world of pre-light, one I know will persist throughout the day with how he's set up the curtains. Not pitch black, no false night to hide in. 

I hesitate beside the door until he comes back to shut it, to close us inside of this world that is his - and his alone. That fear inside of me spikes again, leaving my chest heaving, leaving my hands sweating as I ache with _need_ I've yet to find the cure to. He tugs me close and it has to be something in the way my hands clutch his biceps or the way I _shake_ so gently in his arms, but I know that he _knows_ my biggest secrets by how gently he kisses me. 

It's not the frantic thing my thoughts had promised and it's not the _Dominating_ thing his voice had promised me in the kitchen. It's so kind and sweet that it's _aching_ and I don't know that I can accurately deal with what's happening to me like this.

I let him guide me to the bed and I let his fingers ever so gently unfasten my jeans. Even as he skims them down my thighs, as I help push them the rest of the way off, all I can reconcile this with is some measure of _caution_ on his part. He doesn't let anything but his knuckles touch my thighs, doesn't even accidentally brush against the one part of me I want him to _lavish_ with attention. 

One thought remains, stuck on some absurd repeat in my brain: _he knows_.

I'm not a porcelain figure, set to break if I'm tossed too hard on the bed. I'm not a fragile, overfilled water balloon, ready to burst at a second's notice. This isn't-

A shudder rips through me as he gives me a little shove and I find myself falling backwards. The bed catches me and I scramble onto it. He picks up my bag that I've somehow dropped in the process of whatever _this_ is, and tosses it next to me. My shirt covers me so completely there's nothing but legs on display for him and if he weren't looking at me like that's the sexiest thing he's ever seen, I swear I'd find some shame for the choice in clothing.

His hands spread my thighs as he slips onto the bed between my legs. His arms _jerk_ me down closer to him, settle me where he _looms_ over me and a thrill skitters through my veins. _Now_ we're talking.

The chuckle catches me off-guard, leaves me blinking up at him as he smirks down at me. "You've thought this through... know _exactly_ what you want from me." He dips his head and his teeth catch my lower lip, tug and release. "Finding it will be _fun_."

I shudder and _moan_ and his laugh isn't something to catch me unaware this time. His hands skim up my sides and then down, taking hold of the hem of my shirt and dragging it upward. It catches beneath my balls and holds until it jerks up all at once, revealing me to his gaze. I whine and he takes me in, everything about his gaze as hungry as I feel. 

His mouth is on me faster than I register his movement and I realize what I have to _learn_ from him. The ability to surprise, to hold back, to please and _be_ pleased. My cry is obnoxiously loud, but he doesn't stop me from making it as I slip into velvet heat, as he sends shockwaves of pleasure right up through my cock and into my very _existence_. 

My knees are bent and it makes it an _easy_ task to reach down and grab onto him, to clutch as he _moves_. I can't stop my hips from moving or the way my thigh muscle is quivering, making my leg jerk as he adds _tongue_ to the mix. There's a moment where I try desperately to open my mouth and _say_ something. Anything, really, but I can't seem to get my mouth to even work, much less form words. I'm breathless and I feel like every single ounce of focus I have is _right_ where his mouth is, closed right around my length and gently bobbing. 

There's a groan I don't bother holding back and he pulls up, laps at the head of my cock and _then_ he's over me. All warm, _strong_ man and I can't do anything but adore the look on him. There's a fleeting instant of some of my darker fantasies, the ones involving Jason's _guns_ , that hand that had so lightly teased earlier mercilessly _choking_ and I spit out a groan that seems misplaced, awkward even given he's barely touching me.

His lips are on my jaw and his words are singing in my ears. "Give me permission to rock your world and I'll make sure no one else ever even remotely stacks up to this experience for you."

Cocky _bastard_. I love it. That's the last shred of positive proof. He _knows_ he's about to venture into uncharted territories for me, about to show me something that will stay with me for a lifetime, and I can't possibly think of anyone better to do it.

"I _want_ you." It's not enough, I know by the way his hands tighten on my waist, the way his hips don't quite jerk in the motion of what they want to do. "Take-" my voice cracks and if it weren't for how _old_ I am that would be embarrassing. As it is, it's merely another drop in the hilarity of my world bucket. I reach for him, do my best to drag him closer to me. I abandon the notion of telling him to take my _virginity_ , like it's some dirty word and focus on the _real_ dirty word that also wants out.

" _Fuck_ me, Jason."

I'm arching off the bed in an instant, his hips grinding against my own, the hardness of his cock pressing through the fabric of his pants as he presses me to the bed, as he kisses me _stupid_.

I let out a shocked little cry that rapidly turns into a moan of utter _pleasure_ and his hands leave me long enough to get between us, to get his pants open, and then there's _urgency_ that I didn't expect from him. The sound of the zipper on my case and the crinkle of the condoms I bought months ago but have never used beyond the simple examination of one of them. Lubricant being popped open and _okay_ I've used that a few dozen times, driven myself _mad_ when I have enough time to do it right.

The lube is warm by the time his fingers touch me and I marvel at how well my body accepts both digits. Light sparks behind my eyelids and I cry out for him, writhing under him as he _abuses_ my prostate until I'm on the verge of orgasm this way. My cock is straining and my entire body is trembling. My leg is jerking and I'm crying out with desire, my head tossed back and my hips shoved forward as he finger-fucks me right up to the brink.

My abdominals clench and that's when he stops, just pulls his fingers free and I want nothing more than to _sob_ in frustration. 

"Hang on." His voice is a _menace_ and a shockwave of excitement slams through me. He shifts and then he's _here_ , his hands on my thighs and his cock _pressing_ , pushing into me.

It's a _lot_ to take at first, so much more than his fingers. I gasp and then _moan_ for him, wanting to encourage this delightful _sin_ he's imparting upon me. My body clenches and my muscles flutter, and then I'm _cumming_ and nothing in the world could have stopped it. 

I can't breathe, I can't _see_. I can't think and that's exactly what I've always been looking for in this.

By the time I come floating back down to a level where I can _experience_ again, he has one arm securely wrapped around me, under my back, and he's _thrusting_ , too needy from the feel of my body to hesitate. My cock strains and flexes and I clutch at him harder, _croon_ for him as he speeds up.

The bed protests, the springs letting us know what we're doing, as if we couldn't have figured it out some other way. It's surreal. It's a world filled with _sensation_ rather than the million things on my to-do list. It's a world where _this_ is what matters the most and I throw myself into it, my fingers clenching harder, earning myself a delicious _moan_ , ripped free of his throat as he forces my thighs wider, as he pounds _harder_ into me. 

Somehow, some way, I watch him watching _me_. He watches his cock as he penetrates me. He watches as he slams into my body again and again and I watch the burn of arousal driving higher and higher inside of him until he's clutching me to him, until he's riding against me so hard neither one of us can _breathe_.

It's _wild_ and it's _everything_ I had ever thought it would be with him. It's every ounce of desperation to feel _good_ , every single trembling second of each of us trying so diligently to be _needed_ , and when I cry out his name, his joins me, my name sounding sweeter on his tongue than on anyone else's in my entire life. 

I'm shaking as he falls apart, as the walls crumble inward and I see _Jason_ for who he truly is in the seconds before his orgasm. He _watches_ me and he lets me see this precious gift as he _takes_ mine. The feeling of him twitching, buried so deep inside of me is all I need. I _cry_ his name, sob it out until I can't breathe, and he _fucks_ me hard, all the way through it.

I suck in a breath and he's _there_ , his arms around me, his gentle kisses exploring my neck and up under my jaw. He holds me until I stop shaking, until he's _satisfied_ I've come back down. There's a moment and then he's pulled out, disposed of the condom, but he hasn't _left_ me. I'd been so _sure_....

He draws the covers up over us and draws me in against his side. My arms go around him automatically and this time, his words _do_ shock me. "Believing the worst in someone can bring out the best when they see it written on your face what you _think_ will happen."

This... this _isn't_ fear. My fingers weave with his own and the smile on my lips has never been _more_ than it is now. There are demons in our hearts, ugly sour things in our souls, but _tonight_ there isn't a single one that can touch us. Tonight is about _conquering_ our fear and tonight is about _us_. Really... that's all we ever needed.


End file.
